Never Underestimate the Power of Cheap Whiskey
Notes: Obviously none of the character are mine.
Warnings: Geez, this should just come standard on everything I freaking write...BUT...lewd, crude, tastelessness up ahead. This first section is reasonably tame, but the second won't be, just a heads up. If you aren't into Wincest, sorry this story won't be for you, by all means go read something else and have a lovely day. If you wanna bitch and moan about how it's an awful pairing, could you just yell at the screen instead of typing it? I'm all for constructive criticism, but if that's your idea of constructive criticism then I pity anyone who comes to you for advice.
I'll put more emphasis on this in the second installment, but we're dealing with a characterization of both Dean and Sam who have already entertained these thoughts of one another. They've both dealt with it in different ways, but the inclination is still there. I'd go into the backstory and all that goodness but then this would be a much longer fic, and we've all seen how well I do plodding through multi-chapter fics. (It doesn't get done, basically.)
More than anything Dean couldn't understand why the time was passing so slowly. He groaned, stiff, and shifted slightly so that the Impala's hood wasn't pressing into quite the same spots on his back. The cellphone's screen, blindingly bright in the dark night, had only advanced about a quarter of an hour since he last checked, which had only been five minutes after the previous check, and that only twenty after the one before...and so on and so forth. The short an long of it was, the night seemed endless. Just like the day had been and the next day would be.
Ever since Bobby had died he and Sam had sat in near total silence, time at a crawl. It made no difference whether Dean tried to distract himself or not, either way the days moved slower than sloths edging their way along tree branches. Did you know that it could take days for two sloths to have sex? Dean didn't need to know that, but when Sam, random factoid extraordinaire was your brother, you got to save little things like that for rainy days.
The wilderness surrounding the cabin they were sheltering in was vast and very little light pollution dampened the overwhelming, pressing darkness of night. Dean had driven the Impala out to a clearing off the road a few miles out with enough cheap liquor to black out Superman, it was a ritual he had gotten into two days after they had left the hospital. The first night had been reserved for a proper hunter's burial for Bobby, they chopped the wood for the pyre all day and at sundown said their last goodbyes. Dean wondered whether it would be good enough, Bobby had at least a couple of possessions that Dean could imagine a spirit attaching itself to upon death, but only time would tell.
There was a difference tonight than there had been for the last week though. The blackness, save millions of stars blanketing the sky, had stripped him down to purely auditory and physical input. Warm whiskey. Chilly still night air pressing the air out of his lungs. The Impala's hood warm under his back, engine not fully cooled from the drive out. Cicadas and crickets crying out their unearthly unbroken whine. All the same as before. But this time there was a warm presence next to him as well.
Sam.
Sam had pestered him all day to bring him along, using every ploy in his arsenal which, considering he'd had a long time to learn every single issue that raised Dean's hackles and pricked his conscience, was extensive. Regardless of how reluctant Dean had been, he had to admit that Sam's presence was comforting.
"Look," Sam glanced over, barely able to make out Dean's outstretched arm pointing into the night sky. "That constellation is Boötes. Apparently it's in the running for 'oldest constellation ever'. Pretty impressive claim, huh?"
"I didn't know you knew about constellations," Sam said with slight consternation as he tried to search out the proper arrangement of stars above.
"You think you got all the brains in the family?" Dean huffed out what could loosely be called a laugh. His first since... "I do read, ya know."
Sam snorted, sounding unimpressed. But inside he was glad to be talking like normal. His favorite moments were like this, with Dean, sitting on the Impala listening to his brother jabber on about something he hadn't expected him to know about. Dean was always surprising him like that. The ridiculous playboy act and the general family expectation for Sam to the smart one always and forever were incongruous with this quiet, confidently knowledgeable Dean. It made, for just a second, the last week, Hell the last few years, fall away and Sam hoped the mood wouldn't just slip away.
"Where is it?" Sam asked quietly, sliding over so his shoulder pushed up against Dean's.
"See, you can see him if you spot Ursa Major and Minor," Dean continued circling his finger lazily towards the sky.
The older brother continued to babble on about constellations, picking out their shapes with his hand, still holding the bottle of whiskey, and describing their various stories. Sam just leaned back and listened, giving appropriate noises of encouragement periodically, just to make sure Dean wouldn't stop. He was paying more attention to Dean though than the stars, beautiful as they were. His brother's familiar smell, leather and cheap soap and cheaper alcohol, overtook his senses. It was the smell of home, comforting and right. Throughout the years the way Dean smelled had barely changed and nothing else could calm Sam as much as simply being near his brother and letting that scent surround him.
His older brother's eyes shone bright with alcohol and momentary happiness as he stared up at the stars, still lost in the ancient stories. Dean's profile was sharp against the darkness and Sam couldn't break his
gaze. Why couldn't they stay this way always? The way they were meant to be.
Sam didn't notice when Dean stopped talking or when he lowered his hand from the sky. But he did notice when Dean silently turned his head to stare straight into Sam's eyes. Even in the dim light the stars provided, Dean's eyes flashed green and captivating. There was too much behind the look to unpack it at one glance, Sam was sure he saw the sadness that had overtaken their lives last week, and certainly a haze of whiskey. There was deep seated anger and resolution there too, as there always was, and the fierce protective urge Dean had directed towards his younger brother their entire lives. But there was something more, Sam though, flickering through the green, if he could only catch up with it and dissect it.
"I feel worse," Dean rasped quietly, "even worse than when Dad died. Bobby...he was...he was more than...fuck, he was the closest thing to a loving parent..."
"Yeah. I kind of feel like an asshole, but I feel like this is what it should have felt like when Dad died."
"Exactly. But Bobby deserves just as much as he does," Dean broke off, still unused to saying anything truly against their father.
"Maybe...maybe it's because when Dad died we still had people. Shit, just look around us. Bobby was the last family we had."
"We're actually fucking alone this time, aren't we, Sam?"
Dean looked so desperate Sam's throat knotted up. He never knew what to do the few times Dean actually let him see the pain he was truly in underneath it all. Dean was always the one to take care of things, to take care of Sam, he hadn't learned how to return the favor. Shit, what should he do? What would he do for someone else?
Gut lurching with nerves that Dean would push him away, get cold and angry again, or even drive off and leave him alone in the woods all night, Sam reached over and placed his hand softly on Dean's cheek.
His brother flinched and a flash of confusion crossed his handsome features, but thankfully he didn't run screaming.
"We'll be ok, Dean," Sam said more confidently than he felt. "Just the two of us, we can take care of each other just fine. We'll miss the Hell out of Bobby and that's ok, but we...we can get by."
He leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his brother's lips and then settled back a comfortable distance, trying not to show that he was bracing for the shit storm he fully expected. Dean's lips were just as he had remembered from when Dean used to tuck them into whatever cheap motel twin bed they called home each night, warm and soft as sin. It had been a comforting gesture then, maybe it still could be now?
"Sam," Dean's voice cracked, eyes still locked on his little brother. His heart had jumped at Sam's kiss, the first they'd shared since Dad had started yelling that it wasn't right for two boys to do that at their age, when Dean was about thirteen. So many years and it still felt like home.
Aw aren't they just so adorbs when they're sad. Mansobs all around. I like it when we get to see the adept, unexpectedly nerdy side of Dean. I feel like it's often overlooked in portrayals of his character. Exciting stuff in the next chapter and I'll warn you, it's pretty glurgy, but what do you expect when it's all about comfort?